


Heart's Ease

by White Aster (white_aster)



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2001-08-23
Updated: 2006-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locke learns that love is both a many-splendored and a many-thorned thing...not in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Searching

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that the beginning parts of this series are OLD. I...hopefully have gotten better since I wrote them. &gt;_&gt;

Locke was drunk.

Not everyday, had-a-few-beers-and-is-mildly-buzzed kind of drunk. This was the went-at-the-hard-liquor-like-it-was-water kind of drunk that he didn't often let himself get. It was counterproductive, stupid, to let himself get this pissed, to where his reflexes were shit and his thoughts felt like they were wrapped in wool. But here, in Figaro, a friggin' *fortress*, at a birthday party thrown by two of his best friends, well....

If there was any time to get falling-down drunk, Locke had thought, this was it.

So, he had. Happily. On good Jidooran red and the little flask of cactus wine that Sabin had slipped in his pocket with a wink before being whirled away into the crowd to, it seemed, be pestered into dancing with every woman in the place. *Ah, the life of a prince. Evidently even a musclebound prince who can't dance worth shit.*

It escaped Locke how someone with the reflexes of a cat, who could do precise katas at dawn without even being fully awake, whom he'd seen dodge everything from flying cactaur needles to laser beams, seemed completely incapable of avoiding a dance partner's feet. The music ended, the dancers bowed to their partners, and Locke winced in sympathy as the petite little merchant's daughter limped away.

Sabin, catching his eye, wandered over to the bench Locke had managed to claim. Locke had to admit that Sabin was looking rather princely at the moment. Someone had managed to pry him out of his tank top and loose training pants and had put him in a white shirt and black velvet trousers with soft black leather boots. Over it all was a long velvet coat the color of good rubies, trimmed with gold and flattering his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Somehow, though Locke was more used to seeing him in sweat-stained training gear, it suited him.

Sabin swiped a glass of champagne from a passing servant's tray and downed it in a gulp before dropping down at Locke's side. "Are we havin' fun yet?" he grinned, shrugging out of his coat and draping it over a convenient statue.

Locke chuckled and reached out to refill Sabin's champagne glass with some of the cactus wine. He had cut back on his own consumption in the last hour or two and was starting to feel like he might even be able to walk straight if he was very careful. "Sure. You royal folks sure know how to throw a party." A tiny bit more of the wine cool-burned its way down his throat. "How 'bout you, birthday boy?"

Sabin tossed back his own wine, eyes dancing. "Now that I've danced with everyone who'd get upset if I didn't, you bet."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think that you tromp all over their toes to keep 'em from asking again."

Sabin chuckled and tried to look innocent. "Would I do that?"

"Yes."

The prince snorted and grinned. "Damn straight. Works, too. See the rat-looking woman over there in the green dress?"

Locke looked and spied a thin, pinched-face woman in the center of a bright circle of apparently fawning males. Her face was set in a bored sort of smirk. He shuddered. "Yeah."

"Well, she's the daughter of one of Edgar's best advisors, truly awesome guy, served our father since before anyone can remember. *She*, however, should have been drowned at birth. Spoiled and mean-tempered and a vengeful little snit to boot. Sometime when I was about thirteen she decided that she liked the idea of marrying me--"

Locke nearly snorted cactus wine through his nose. "Gah!"

Sabin looked out over the crowd. "--yeah, tell me about it. Don't know why she picked me. Maybe she didn't want to have to fight all the chicks around Edgar, *I* don't know. Anyway, she started stalking me. Every time I turned around she was there, wanting to go on picnics or go riding or some such shit. I tried bein' nice, I really did. When that didn't work I started trying to avoid her, but she must have had spies on me or something. She was usually able to find me. So, after about a month of this, I was ready to pop, and Edgar was absolutely *no* fucking help, seemed to find this *tremendously* amusing and kept asking when the wedding was going to be--"

Locke tried to hide his grin in his hand and spotted Edgar, who seemed to be on his way over. "I'll bet."

"--no shit. So, this was back when our father still held balls about every week or so. Finally, one time, after she asked me to dance for about the fiftieth time, I said sure--"

"And promptly proceeded, I believe, to step all over the poor girl's feet," Edgar interjected cheerily, pulling up a chair and dropping into it with a sigh. The king of Figaro, as resplendent as his brother, but in blue velvet and cape rather than red and coat, smiled wryly, his boneless posture and slightly flushed face hinting that he'd had not a little bit of champagne himself.

"Hey, she deserved it!" Sabin insisted, pointing a finger at his brother for emphasis.

"Sabin, you broke her foot!"

"Hey, I don't know what you're complaining about. It got you out of dancing with her for a few months, too."

"More than a few months. You did it the next time she was dense enough to ask to dance with you, too."

"*That* time was an accident."

"Sure it was, little brother." Edgar leaned back in his chair and nudged Locke with the toe of his boot. "Locke, are you dying?" Edgar asked.

Bent over his knees, shoulders heaving with laughter, Locke gasped for breath between giggles. He flapped his hand negligently, not being able to spare the breath for a reply.

"So," Sabin said, tossing his empty glass to a rather startled passing servant, "how much longer 'til we can tell all these folks to bugger off?"

"Eh." Edgar stretched in his chair. "Another hour or so. If we start the gift-opening now."

"Ah, shit." Sabin made a face. "I forgot about that. I hate having to smile and say thanks for a bunch of useless shit that I don't need."

Edgar stood, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know. But look on the bright side. The sooner you do it, the sooner we can sneak off to the real party."

Locke looked up, wiping tears from his eyes and scanning the room. Strago was closeted with a few of Edgar's advisors, folks he evidently knew from before Time began. Terra, looking quite lovely in a light blue gown and with her hair cascading down her back, had evidently coerced Cyan to dance, and the Doman retainer actually seemed to be doing a pretty good job of leading. Gau and Relm were off to the side, being entertained by Mog and, surprisingly, Setzer. Locke saw with vague horror that they were all holding cards. Locke sincerely hoped that Setzer didn't have them gambling, or, if he did, that Strago didn't see them, or Setzer might shortly be a black-velvet-clad stain on the wall. Shadow was nowhere to be seen, but this was nothing new. "Is...everyone here?"

Edgar almost winced at the hope in his friend's voice, some of his cheer evaporating. *Ah, Locke....* "Everyone but Celes. She said that she'd try to come but that she's so busy she might not be able to. I haven't seen her, so she's probably...not able to make it."

"Oh." The way his face fell was subtle, and mostly hidden behind the wine flask, but both the brothers saw it, and they passed a tight, unhappy look over his head.


	2. Revelations: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter changes everything.

"I'll see your almond and raise you three peanuts."

Relm frowned at her pile of winnings. "I'm out of peanuts. How about some raisins?"

Setzer examined the offerings solemnly and pronounced judgment. "Sure. Three raisins to one peanut."

"Snufaaw!" Gau made a muffled protest through the remains of a particularly large cookie.

Setzer waved his hands. "All right, all right. Two per peanut."

Relm scowled at him. "You gave Gau a one-for-one with his candies."

Gau nodded, glowering, crumbs pattering down on his shirt, now mostly unbuttoned, and the cravat gone gods only knew where.

Setzer attempted to look hurt. "Would I cheat you, Relm?"

"Yes," Relm said immediately, fishing a chocolate out of her winnings and popping it in her mouth.

"Mmph!" Gau agreed, taking another bite.

"I'm shocked that you two don't trust me. Just shocked, after all we've gone through--" *Actually,* he thought, *the kid's got damn good instincts....*

Relm eyed him critically. "Like the two thousand gold you still owe me from Jidoor? And the six thousand you swindled from me that rainy day in...where was it?" She tugged on a passing server's sleeve, and the woman handed her a cup of iced juice. Relm frowned down at it. The last waiter had given her a cup of wassail, and it'd been tasty.

"Miffees," Gau supplied helpfully.

"Mobliz. Right--"

"Swindled! My dear, it is not my fault that Lady Luck smiled upon me. One raisin per peanut."

Gau brushed at the crumbs falling down on his cards, swallowing. "Fair."

"Good," Relm said, tossing three raisins into the middle of the table. "Call. Three jacks."

Gau laid down his cards, smiling delightedly.

Relm swirled her finger in her juice despondently. The wassail had been much tastier. "That's a pair, Gau. Three jacks beats it."

Gau's face fell. He scowled at the offending cards, reaching for another cookie.

Relm grinned at Setzer. "So? C'mon, Mr. Gambler, whatcha got?"

Setzer laid down his cards, trying not to smirk too badly. "I fear, little lady, that your raisins are mine. Four kings."

"Oh, man.... Waittaminute! Didn't I have a king?" Relm reached for the pack where he'd put her discards.

*Yep, very good instincts.* Setzer started quickly shuffling the deck. "My dear, I'm WOUNDED--"

"You will be if you don't put the cards away before Strago gets over here."

Setzer jumped at the voice in his ear, his heart nearly in his throat, nearly overturning the wassail cup next to his elbow when he instinctively reached for darts or dice or steel-edged cards that weren't there. He looked up at a brown-haired man in beige velvet and for a moment had no idea who he was. Then the raised eyebrow and the voice clicked, and Setzer chuckled, feeling a bit like a fool. Then he saw the old man over Shadow's shoulder, heading their direction and the cards disappeared into a pocket in Setzer's coat. "You scared the hell out of me. You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." He grinned. "Folks might think you're up to no good."

Shadow's voice was flat, just loud enough to be heard over the music, but it might have been the tiniest bit amused. "And I wouldn't want that."

Relm giggled. "To scare people, or them to think you're up to no good?"

"Either."

Relm giggled harder, laying her cheek down on her folded hands, yawning.

Strago finally arrived, his staff thumping on the marble floor. "Well, now, what have you been up to tonight?"

Setzer spread his hands. "Just talking. Thought I'd keep them out of trouble." He shot a look at Relm as she giggled again, even more sleepily this time.

"Hrrumph." Strago looked slightly suspicious, but finally said, "Well, then. It's getting late. More that late enough that all little girls should be in bed."

"Gaah, I don' wanna go to bed, Gramps."

"You're falling asleep as it is. Come on. Where's Gau, then?"

Setzer's lips twitched as he said, "No clue. Musta disappeared off to steal the rest of the cookie tray." He muffled his surprised "ow!" as Gau, who'd been hiding under the table ever since Strago came over with that "I'm going to make people go to bed" look in his eyes, gave him a hard kick.

Strago herded Relm up from her seat. She yawned hugely and stopped to give Setzer a hug. "Cheater," she mumbled.

"Brat," he murmured back, fondly. The kid really did make him think, somewhere in a deep, dusty corner of his soul, that he might like to have kids. Someday. Maybe.

Strago nodded to Setzer and gave Shadow, who'd stepped back from the table when he'd arrived, a long, inscrutable frown before leading Relm away. Setzer looked back at Shadow, but the man's face was as blankly impassive as ever.

Once Strago was gone, Setzer reached down to rub his shin. "Nice way to thank me, ingrate."

Gau popped up from under the table, looked about for more responsible adults, and finally sighed and sat down again, sticking out his tongue at Setzer and finishing off the rest of Relm's juice before heading towards the refreshment table again.

*Then again, maybe I'd better leave the kids to those who don't have occasional urges to strangle them.*

"So," Setzer said, leaning back in his chair. He pulled out the cards again and shuffled them aimlessly. "What's the deal with you and Strago?"

Shadow murmured, "I have no idea what you mean."

"Oh, come on. He acts like you're not there, and that's only when he's not giving you that Look of Death he has going." Setzer watched Shadow's face out of the corner of his eye. He'd never been particularly close to the ninja and wasn't really sure if this was treading on shaky ground, but hey, Shadow had seemed to settle down a bit since the end of the world thing, and well...no guts, no glory.

Shadow's face, however, stayed as deadpan as ever. "Perhaps he doesn't approve of mercenary assassins around his granddaughter."

Setzer looked back at the cards as he dealt out an aimless hand of solitaire. "Maybe, but I don't know...I get the feeling it's something person--huh?" He looked up to find that he was talking to empty air. He looked around, but the ninja was gone, disappeared into the crowd. Setzer sighed. "I hate it when he does that."

"Who does what?" Locke asked as he flopped down in an empty chair, dropping his jacket over the chair next to him. His color was up--quite becomingly, Setzer thought in that dark, dusty corner of his mind--probably due to the flask that dangled from one hand as he propped his feet up on yet another chair.

"Hey there. Shadow. Disappearing."

"He's here? Haven't seen him."

"He's here. In beige."

Locke frowned as he took another swig from his flask and offered some to Setzer. "Beige? Why?"

"I didn't have a chance to ask." Setzer cast about and came up with one of his empty wassail cups, holding it out. Locke poured him two fingers worth, and the sharp, green-sweet smell of cactus wine floated on the air. "Gods, you actually drink this stuff?" Setzer sniffed at the glass suspiciously.

"Yeh. It's good. Bit of an acquired taste, but got a hell of a kick."

Setzer took a swallow and felt his eyes burn with the effort not to cough like a rookie. "No kidding," he wheezed. "Tastes like cactaur piss." The second swallow went down much easier.

Locke made a face. "If you say so. And that's some of Figaro's best you're making fun of, there. Here I am, playing nice messenger, and all you can do is make fun of my booze."

"Messenger?"

"Eh. The guys're done opening all their official gift things, and the gang's going to move to somewhere a little more private. Ya know, get away from all the stiffs."

Actually, now that Locke mentioned it, Setzer realized that most of the others seemed to be making their way to various exits. Edgar made his way over to them, looking quite cheerful himself. "C'mon, you two, let's make a break for it before the horde closes in, or someone else demands to dance with me or something...."

"Your Majesty?"

"Too late," Edgar muttered as he turned around, and Setzer snickered at the crestfallen look on his face. But it was only a page, who held out an envelope on a silver tray. "Oh. Who's it from?"

"General Celes, Your Majesty."

"Ah, thank you." Edgar opened the letter, reading it as the page turned his eyes to Locke.

"Mr. Cole?"

Locke shook himself, as if waking from a dream. "Huh? Yeah?"

"There's a letter for you, also, sir." The page handed him another envelope and bowed before departing.

Setzer sipped at his cactus wine. "What, only royalty get their letters on the tray? Did he think your letter was going to contaminate Edgar's or something?"

After a moment, Edgar waved a hand. "It's just a protocol thing." He folded the letter, stuffing it in his pocket. "Unfortunately, Celes won't be coming. She's got her hands full in Tzen and can't make it. She sends her apologies." Edgar turned to Locke. "Did she say--Locke? Locke, are you all right?"

Setzer turned just in time to see Locke's very, very pale face, and the slight tremor in the hand that held his letter before Locke blinked, a very obviously forced smile curving his lips. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ok." He stuffed the letter, envelope and all, into his pocket. "Just...just not feeling so good all of a sudden. Too much...too much wine, I guess. I think I'll have to...bow out on the party, Edgar. Sorry."

Edgar said quietly, "It's all right. Take care of yourself."

"I...I will. Thanks. G'night. 'Night, Setzer."

"Good...night, Locke." Setzer said lamely, as Locke turned to walk away, head down. "What was that about?"

"I don't know," Edgar said, shaking his head, brow furrowed.

Setzer looked over at him, sharply. "You know something."

Edgar shook his head again. "Nothing worth mentioning. It's none of my business, really." He sighed, slinging an arm around Setzer's shoulder, "Come on. He'll be all right."

Setzer followed, but, remembering the shocked, lost look in Locke's eyes, he wondered...and worried. *I've seen that look in someone's eyes before. And it never meant anything that was going to be "all right".*


	3. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locke sees something he didn't expect and it hurts more than he would have thought.

Locke wandered, not thinking. It had been a bit hard at first, the not thinking thing, but the bottle of Jidooran red that he'd appropriated from a scandalized servant's tray had helped tremendously. It had also greatly contributed, he was sure, to the fact that he got spectacularly lost somewhere in the bowels of Figaro Castle. Luckily, it was ALSO responsible for him not particularly caring. He stared at the stairs in front of him debating up from down, and decided that up was probably wiser. The gods only knew where he'd end up if he headed down. Maybe into the engine room or some other mechanical mess. Wherever he was, it was fairly deserted, now, so maybe he was still in some unused wing somewhere. Or maybe it was just late. He wasn't really sure how long he'd been wandering. It could be the middle of the night, for all he knew.... He was just beginning to start to kinda recognize the hallways he was trudging through when something caught his eye through an open door. Two figures standing in the middle of a large empty room, the moonlight flooding through the high windows against one wall. They were standing close together, and Locke debated leaving them alone. Then one turned the right way, and Locke's sharp eyes noticed two familiar profiles in the moonlight.

He should have left. The minute he saw them, he should have left. Even drunk and a bit shellshocked as he was, the fact of the two of them alone in the darkened ballroom was more than enough for him to realize that this was a private party.

He'd known, of course. The rumors that Shadow was staying at Figaro Castle were pretty much all over the black market. At first Locke had thought that someone'd got it wrong. Shadow certainly didn't seem like the type to settle down just for the hell of it. But then he'd talked with Edgar when they were both visiting Doma, and he'd found out why.

He'd nearly choked on his beer. Not over the fact that they were both men, but just because it seemed ludicrous that they could put up with each other. Then, the next time he'd visited Figaro, he'd watched. And not seen a whole hell of a lot. The two of them certainly never did anything overt in public, and Locke guessed that that was mostly Shadow's choice, just because he was a secretive bastard. But every now and then, there was a look held just a touch longer than necessary, or the simple fact that they would gravitate to the same room whenever they weren't doing anything else. And then there was always the unmentioned but fairly obvious fact that they slept in the same room. He still couldn't figure out how they put up with each other. From what he could tell, Shadow had just learned the fine art of ignoring most of the Figaro exuberance.

Sabin's voice was a low rumble, too far away to hear. He was turned to Shadow, his hand on his arm, stopping him in the middle of the ballroom floor. Shadow looked like he was protesting, shaking his head. His voice was altogether too soft to hear, and Sabin's reply was a grin and a laugh that rang against the far flung stone walls.

Curious, Locke crept closer, moving along the side, behind the row of pillars lining the side of the room, where the dimmed lighting didn't quite reach.

Sabin's voice was questioning, still too far away to make out the words. But then Locke moved past the pillar that had momentarily blocked his view, and stopped.

He'd never seen them show any kind of physical affection before. He'd never seen them touch.

And they were face-to-face, Sabin with his arms around Shadow's shoulders, smiling down and standing so close that his bulk and height seemed to dwarf the assassin. Shadow, for his part, was standing with his own arms still at his sides, his head tilted up to look at Sabin with an unusually readable long-suffering expression on his face. Locke knew for a fact that Sabin had had not a little to drink that night.

"You're serious." Shadow's voice sounded resigned.

"Of course I'm serious." Sabin's sounded cheerful.

"Anyone could come by."

"Oh yeah, like there's anyone who doesn't know and like we'd give a flying fuck anyway." Locke watched in fascination as Sabin leaned down slightly to rest his cheek on the top of Shadow's head. Whatever change in weight happened between them was enough for Shadow to alter his stance, reaching up to grip Sabin's biceps for balance. A tiny change that he usually accomplished much more gracefully. Evidently he'd had more than a little to drink, too. It was almost funny to see the unflappable Shadow reduced to mere mortalhood by something as simple as alcohol.

Shadow was murmuring too low for Locke to hear, and Sabin replied in kind. Wanting to hear again, Locke moved closer, letting another pillar block his view.

When he moved past it and could see again, they were dancing.

He stood as if petrified to the spot, staring.

They were good.

In some far corner of his mind, past the large part that was paralyzed with alcohol and shock, there was a small part that wasn't surprised, really, that Shadow could dance. The waltz was, after all, all about rhythm and coordination, which Shadow could do in his sleep, even drunk. But he'd spent a good deal of the evening watching Sabin trample all over a determined succession of female feet. And here he was, arm around Shadow's waist, leading as easy as breathing, and the two of them swooped across the floor like two birds in flight, moving to no music but Sabin's humming and the soft click and slide of their boots across the marble. And somehow they made it not the dainty, arm's-length mince that Locke had spent the night praying no woman asked him to partake in. This was two bodies pulled close, chest to chest, belly to belly, moving as one, melded and matched. And though he'd never thought to picture it, the two of them that close, it looked right, that Sabin was just enough taller to be able to tuck Shadow's head under his chin, and that he'd be smiling softly as they moved. And though he never thought that Shadow would allow it, he saw how the assassin closed his eyes, his cheek against Sabin's shoulder, his arm about his waist, fingers spread against the ruby velvet, and on his face a look Locke had never seen before....

It was that look, the most open look he'd ever seen from Shadow, that made him realize what he was doing. He felt his face flush with heat even as the two of them slowed to a stop with the prince's chuckle, Sabin bringing his hands up to frame Shadow's face, leaning down....

Locke tore his eyes away, and fled silently.

***

Shadow's lips were nothing to sneer at, especially when drunk and willing to play in the middle of the Grand Ballroom.

"Mmmm." And when they tasted like the chocolate icing from the cake, too. Sabin smiled. "You're cute when you're drunk, you know that?"

Shadow snorted and pushed away, about to say something when movement caught his eye and his head snapped to the right, hand reaching for the dagger at his hip even before he'd finished the motion.

"What?" Sabin looked, too, stepping back, letting his hands fall to the ready at his sides. Months since either of them had needed to, and still it was instinct to drop into a defensive stance, to back off to give each other room to move.

Shadow's eyes caught the movement again just as it slipped out the open doors of the ballroom. The light from the hall flashed on denim blue in familiar ash brown hair before the figure was out in the hall and away. "Locke."

"Huh." Sabin eased his stance slowly, shrugging. "Think he was watching us?"

Shadow released the hilt of his dagger, turning to fix Sabin with a look. "I'm sure if he was, we won't hear the end of it."

Sabin grinned and waggled his eyebrows at him. Shadow rolled his eyes.

"Actually," Sabin said, face going thoughtfully back to the ballroom door. "I'd better go after him. Wanted to talk to him. He's seemed...down lately."

Shadow's mouth twisted wryly. It was no secret among their little group that Locke had been in love with Celes since the war. And equally no secret, seemingly to everyone but Locke, that Celes had been becoming more and more distant since she'd returned to New Vector to help rebuild from the Empire's ashes. Her failure to make an appearance at the party had not surprised anyone. Not even, he thought, Locke. And reading whatever had been in that letter had killed what little light had been left in their "treasure hunter".

He moved to follow Sabin out the door, almost bumping into him when the martial artist stopped suddenly, arms out a bit. "Whoa."

"What?"

Sabin put a hand out to one of the columns. "Just...just a little more dizzy than I thought. Damn. Knew I shouldn't have had that last glass of champagne. Or maybe the flask of wine before it."

Good gods. "Sit."

Sabin didn't take much convincing, letting himself down to the marble floor, though he protested, "Locke...."

"I'll go find him. Just sit, lay down, fall asleep, whatever, just don't break your neck."

"Yessir." Accompanied by a nicely soused grin.

Shadow sighed, turning. Right.


	4. Revelations: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all becomes clear.

It was, Locke decided, the kiss that had undone him. He'd seen that, and he couldn't stay. Couldn't watch. Just couldn't.

*They looked.... Fuck. I need to get another bottle....*

He never could afterwards remember exactly where or how, but somehow he managed to make it up on the castle wall. He sat down on the parapet, legs dangling, and winced when he heard the crackle of paper in his pocket. He didn't even have to try hard to remember what the letter had said. It's not like it'd been long or anything.

"Locke,  
I'm sorry. I can't. You deserve more than I can give you. I hope that some day you can forgive me.  
Celes"

Two handfuls of words to reduce him to ashes. Again.

The last swallow of wine slid easy as anything down his throat. He stared out at the moonlight on the sand, wishing that he didn't care. He closed his eyes, the bottle falling from his fingers as he wrapped his arms around himself, gravity taking it down to shatter on stone at the base of the wall. *Good gods, I wish I didn't care, would sell my SOUL to not care, anything, everything....* He dug his hands into his hair, as if he could dig the memory of the note out of his brain. A small, tremulous voice in the back of his head whispered, *I don't think I can do this again....*

"Locke."

Locke jumped, twisting to face the voice, and nearly toppled right off the wall. "Gaaah!" He pinwheeled his arms, but his balance had gone to shit thanks to that bottle of wine, and his hands slid over the stone without finding purchase. In the end, he was only saved by a hard hand twisting in the back of his shirt, pulling him back from the edge. Locke made a point of pulling his feet up, scrambling off the wall completely and thumping down onto the stone with a bruising jar to his tailbone. He looked up at his savior. "Nine hells, Shadow, y'scared the shit out of me."

"Obviously." Shadow, apparently satisfied that there was no way that Locke could fall off the castle from where he was, loosed his hand from Locke's shirt. He turned, leaning back against the parapet. He was dressed as he had been in the ballroom, his jacket undone but his hair still held back at the nape of his neck. "You're too drunk to be sitting on walls."

"Not drunk 'nough," Locke muttered to his knees. Behind his eyelids, the world was starting to waltz itself a bit, but not enough. He could still remember every word of Celes' letter.

"Kindly refrain from killing yourself while you're here." It wasn't phrased as a request.

"M'not gonna kill myself and what business'd it be o'yours if I did?" Locke aimed for sounding belligerent and had a suspicion that he sounded more whiny than anything.

"Sabin is worried about you."

"Ah, I see. I knew 't had t'be somethin' like that to make you act'lly act concerned...." Locke struggled to stand up and only managed to get to his knees, his arms resting on the parapet. He sighed, setting his chin on his arms, looking out at the sand dunes. "I wish I was more like you. Not caring...."

Shadow actually sighed. "If you think that, you really HAVEN'T been paying attention, Locke. Now, do you want to talk, or just sit up here in the cold and sulk?"

Locke looked at him incredulously: the world's deadliest assassin, standing there in beige velvet offering to talk. It boggled the mind. "Talkin's never been your thing."

"No, so consider yourself honored that I even offer."

Locke couldn't help but snort a laugh. A small one, but a laugh nonetheless. He knelt there for a good while, though, not sure that he wanted to talk about it. He was beginning to see the appeal of the desert, though, he decided. It looked damn beautiful in the moonlight. "She gave it back," he murmured.

"Gave what back?"

"The...my...." He found he couldn't say it. It made it too real. Hit too close to home. Hurt too much. Locke just dragged the envelope out of his pocket and thrust it at Shadow without looking, his hand falling like lead back to his side when he felt the envelope lifted from his fingers. There was the soft rustle of paper as Shadow opened it, maybe unfolded the letter. The slight chink as the ring and its chain fell out into his palm.

Locke squeezed his eyes shut, pressing them to the back of his hands. "She gave it back."

Shadow was perfectly silent for a long moment, long enough to make Locke tilt his head to look over at him. Slowly, Shadow replaced the letter and the chain and ring, laying the envelope on the wall between them. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Yeah." Locke closed his eyes, wishing again for some more wine. "Me too." Something hot and hard and painful in his chest was growing, like the bloom of an Ultima spell. The stone under his knees was suddenly unbearable, and he stood, wobbling but leaning on the wall for balance. "I just...." His breath caught, and he hitched another one in, staring down at his hands on the top of the wall and blinked at the tears that fell on them. "I can't...."

Hands came down on his shoulders, not doing anything, just...there, and Locke couldn't even muster the energy to be surprised. "This HURTS...," Locke whispered.

"I know." Shadow's hands squeezed his shoulders once before pulling back on him slightly. "Come on."

"Wha?"

"I'm putting you to bed."

Locke let himself be pushed, too drained to resist, but not too drained to grumble, "Won't Sabin be jealous?"

"He'll be there, too. Between the two of us, we'll be able to keep you from doing anything stupid until you sober up."

There was a joke in there somewhere, but...Locke just didn't feel like making it.

He allowed Shadow to lead him back into the castle.


	5. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locke makes a strategic retreat.

Shadow supposed that he should have been happy that Locke waited until they were almost to Sabin's and his quarters before passing out. *I must,* he thought as he shifted Locke's dead weight on his shoulder, *get friends that can hold their liquor better.*

Sabin had evidently sobered up enough to beat him there, and he looked up from where he was sprawled on the bed, still in velvet and boots, when Shadow hauled Locke in. "Mmm? Oh, how'd it--hells, what happened to him?"

"Drunk. And passed out. Move over." Sabin rolled obligingly, and Shadow let Locke fall to the bed. Locke bounced a bit and started snoring softly, muttering something about pickles.

"Drunk?" Sabin pulled his hair out of its braid and idly carded a hand through it. His eyes were on Locke, his brow furrowed. "Damn. What's wrong? Did he tell you?"

Shadow pulled the letter out of his pocket and handed it to Sabin silently, then worked on getting Locke out of his boots and vest while Sabin read it. He knew Sabin'd finished it when the swearing started. Shadow mostly tuned out the nonspecific cursing of a certain general, her stupidity, and the world in general. "--dammit, what the hell's going through her head?"

Shadow shrugged, pulling the covers out from under their prone guest. "Don't ask me."

"Stupid woman. Um...Celes, not you." Sabin sighed, looking down at Locke again. "Damn. Poor guy. This, after that other girlfriend of his.... Pretty shitty luck."

Shadow shrugged, but had to agree. He nudged Locke into position under the covers and pulled them over him.

Something evidently occurred to Sabin. "Umm...not that I'm complaining or anything, but why'd you bring him here?"

Shadow sat on the edge of the bed to take off his own boots, flexing his toes. "I found him on top of the parapet looking like he was thinking about jumping off. I thought it might be a good idea to keep an eye on him until he sobers up."

Sabin cursed a bit more under his breath as he wrestled his coat off. It hit the floor carelessly, as if it weren't worth more than most people made in a year. Sabin swayed only a little as he reached down to unlace his boots, then stretched as he stood and stepped out of them. He looked down at Shadow thoughtfully. "Hey."

Shadow looked up from where he was unloading himself of the hidden daggers and shuriken he'd worn that night. The process took a few minutes.

Sabin smiled, leaning down to kiss him. "You did a good thing."

Sabin's lips still tasted of wine and the rich cake they'd had at the party. Shadow almost smiled at that, both of them resting contently, if a little drunkenly, with their foreheads pressed together. "I know." He sighed. "Though I don't lay any odds on being able to stop Locke if he wakes up and decides to sneak out. Especially with us both in this condition."

Sabin grinned. "Are you saying that someone could sneak past the great Shadow?"

"I'm saying that the great Shadow is going to be sleeping a bit heavier tonight than usual. And Locke has been known to slip past me before. When he really puts his mind to it."

"We could lock the door?"

Shadow just looked at him.

"Er...Locke. Right." Sabin shrugged. "Eh, he'll have to get by both of us. And he'll be hungover, too."

"I certainly hope so." Shadow glanced over at the snoring thief. Locke had sprawled and claimed a pillow by winding around it. "I'm the first to admit I'm not good with people, but I didn't like the look in his eyes."

Sabin's palm brushed against Shadow's cheek, warm and dry. "We'll deal with it in the morning. Er...." He blinked at the bed a bit. "How're we gonna...you know...arrange him while we sleep?"

"Both of us closest to the door."

Sabin considered that seriously for a minute, while Shadow settled his blades in their scattered homes for the night. "We could put him in the middle? That'd be harder for him to get out of without waking us, right?"

"And have him wake up, hungover, in bed, with us on either side of him, and you probably wrapped around him like you tend to do when you're drunk?"

Sabin nodded. "...right. Bad idea.... Glad you're here to think of these things."

"Don't mention it."

\---------------------

Locke woke groggy and hungover in the barely-light of dawn, with no clue where the hell he was. He blinked, hoping that maybe if he waited a bit the curtains and table and chair might become familiar. As the world swam into focus, he started to take stock. Hell, s'not like it was the first time he'd crawled out of a bottle someplace weird. This place couldn't POSSIBLY beat the chocobo stall....

In bed. Clothes still on. Somewhere quiet. The night before came back to him, and hell, he MUST be somewhere in Figaro Castle still. He'd talked with Shadow and they were going somewhere....

A shift and a deep snore behind him nearly made him scream like a girl.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Locke levered himself up and turned his head, the joints grinding and popping like they were filled with sawdust.

Locke stared stupidly at the two men in bed with him for a long, long moment. Shadow was closer, Sabin spooned close to his back like some kind of overgrown kid, one arm thrown over Shadow's waist. Shadow was hunched a bit forward, one arm thrown in front of him as if he'd tried to crawl away from the hug in his sleep but didn't quite make it.

Locke couldn't help snickering, but the movement made his headache pound sickly in his temples, and he lowered his head back down to the cool pillow. *I've got to get out of here. Holy hells, talk about embarrassing.*

It took every ounce of stealth he could muster, but he managed to slide out of bed without waking either Sabin or Shadow. Shadow twitched a bit but didn't wake when the floor creaked under Locke's foot. The hunt for his boots and vest in the semi-dark was even less fun than he'd figured, what with the bending over involved and the pounding in his head. Eventually, though, he made it over to the door, boots in hand. He set his hand on the doorknob, looking back over his shoulder.

*They make a cute couple. I guess. In a sorta sweet but still horribly wrong sorta way....* Locke shook his head, undoing the lock and sliding out into the hall. The guard stationed twenty feet or so down the hall didn't even bat an eyelash at him coming out of the crown prince's chambers at a godsawful hour of the morning, nor when Locke pulled his picks from his sleeve and relocked the door. Locke was obscurely grateful for that and gave the guy a sheepish wave as he passed.

Edgar found the kitchen with only two wrong turns, bobbing and weaving through the bustling kitchen help to find something to eat that wouldn't make an immediate reappearance. The smell of frying bacon and roasting meat made his stomach all but roll over in his belly. He ended up filching a carafe of juice and a nice, safe stack of toast. He peeked in the dining room, plastered to the side of the wall so he didn't get run over by the neverending flow of servers going to and from the hall. The way his head was feeling, he wasn't up to a loud room. Luckily, the last of the day guardshift was just leaving, and most of the court wasn't awake yet, leaving the grand dining hall only about a quarter full and rather quiet. Locke spotted a familiar fall of white hair down a black coat, though, and headed that way. Setzer always knew how to properly commisserate with the hung-over.

"Well, well," Locke said as he sat down across from Setzer, "look at this, two ne'er-do-wells up at a respectable hour."

"Mmph, not by choice, can tell you that," Setzer mumbled into his coffee. He did look a bit worse for wear, yawning with the tone of a man who got significantly less than his required eight hours of sleep the night before, and perhaps even skipped them completely.

Locke sipped his juice and nibbled cautiously on the toast. "What, you got something going on today?"

"Mm." Setzer roused himself with a visible effort. "Appointment in Jidoor a few days from now. If I don't leave early enough today I'll probably miss it. The air currents over the oceans've been tricky since the Ruin. Don't want to get caught in something with no time to spare, you know?"

Locke nodded. Reassured when his stomach apparently had no objection to toasted bread, he reached for the jam, thoughtfully. "You're heading to Jidoor, then?"

"Uh huh. Why? Need a lift?"

"Thinking about it," Locke said, eyes on his knife spreading sugared strawberries on his toast. He could almost FEEL Setzer looking at him.

"I thought you said you were going to stick around for a few days...."

Locke straightened himself up, dredging up a smile that he wasn't sure fooled Setzer even a little bit, by the slight narrowing of the other man's eyes. "I was. Just forgot something I needed to do, and Jidoor's on the way." *Don't ask. Please don't ask....*

Setzer's eyes, when he didn't have on his carefree gambler mask, could be almost as sharp as Shadow's. Or Edgar's. Which made it maybe not the best idea to get on an airship with him for a few days. But Locke didn't think that he'd be able to look Shadow in the eye again maybe ever, and what Shadow knew Sabin knew, and what Sabin knew, Edgar would figure out in about three seconds, and...the idea of staying here with everyone knowing and walking on eggshells around him and giving him pitying looks....

Locke would take having to dodge a curious gambler over all that sympathy any day.

Setzer finally shrugged and resumed poking at his eggs. "Okay. It's your business. And you're more than welcome on the Falcon, you know that." He finished off his breakfast, mopping up the last bit of egg yolk with his toast in a way that made Locke vaguely queasy. "I was wanting to take off in about an hour. That all right?"

Locke smiled, and it felt a bit more genuine, if pathetically grateful. "Yeah, that's fine with me. I just need to get my stuff."

"Great." Setzer threw back the last of his coffee like it was liquor. "I'm going to go see to the Falcon. See you later, then."

"Yep. Thanks."

"No problem!" Setzer waved as he made his way between the long tables. Locke couldn't help but smile as Setzer deposit his dishes on a serving girl's tray with a florid little bow that made her blush furiously.

Locke sighed and stared at his juice. He should really say something to Sabin and Shadow. Thank Shadow, or just...something. After last night, if he disappeared without a word, they might think...well...something worse than the truth.

In the end, after he gathered his things from his room, he took the coward's way out: he wrote a note and gave it to a servant to deliver.

"Sabin, Shadow:  
Going to Jidoor with Setzer.   
Thanks.  
Locke"

It was running away, and he knew it, but he could deal with that.

Really.


End file.
